The Creators Ch. 15

"But I knew what she did," Gloria answered softly. "I found her in that hole with you. I saw what had happened. Only love makes someone do something like that." She rested her hand upon an old book, and I realized that it was a very old edition of the Maternal Path. "Maybe I didn't know Astrid, but I know love. When we walk the earth alone, we walk with armor over ourselves, for we know intimately the open wounds that life has made in our souls, and we must protect them. When we find someone else, we are forced to take off the armor. It's terrifying, for we have to trust the other one not to ravage us where we are wounded." She chewed on her lip. "Love does not heal those wounds beneath our armor, but it makes them bearable. It makes it so that we can grow through the pain, and become stronger."

"I didn't love her," I hissed. "If I loved her, then we would have bound."

"You just hadn't let your armor down yet," Gloria sighed, and wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't love you, and I know you can't love me, but I can't help you until you rip that armor off and show me your wounds." She took out a glowing mushroom. "I can't take your armor off for you, Willowbud."

"I'm not fucking doing it!"

Gloria just smiled pitiably at me. "In case you haven't realized it by now, you don't really have a choice with me."

Gloria climbed up my body, subduing my vain thrashes and kicks with ease. She grabbed hold of my face, pried open my mouth, and pushed her finger and thumb along my cheeks, securing them in place between my molars. No matter how hard I tried to bite the bitch's fingers off, my teeth wouldn't break her flesh.

"You're supposed to meditate and find a sense of peace before this," Gloria said as she slid the mushroom into my mouth. "The tone of your psychedelic trip depends greatly on your mood before it, but I guess there's no making you happy." She pushed the mushroom into the back of my throat, and forced it down my gullet. I gagged and hacked, but her finger slid ceaselessly down my clenching throat until it was sucked down my esophagus. She pulled her fingers out of my mouth, and rested back in the chair.

"I hate you," I hissed at her.

"You only hate yourself," she answered coldly, and checked the clock. "You'll begin to feel the effects within five minutes of ingestion."

"I'm going to kill you when I get the chance."

"If that is what you wish."

"I just wish you'd go away."

Gloria didn't even register that I'd spoken. She just watched the clock, and periodically checked out the window. After two minutes of silence, she said, "I'm with you, Willowbud. Remember that when you think you're alone."

"I am alone, Gloria," I muttered, and stared up at the ceiling. "You should have left me to die with Astrid."

"I did," she whispered back. Her voice echoed against the stone tunnel. Darkness surrounded me, only broken by the thin column of pale light filtering from the hole in the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. The water chimed in a slow cadence; a clock more accurate than the most intricate timepiece made the by the greatest master. For the water that dripped from these rocks would always drip from these rocks. Until the aquifer ran dry or the ponderous effects of corrosion wore the stone away, the water would continue to drip with the same perfect rhythm for thousands and thousands of years.

I could practically see the hydrogeological machination; the little dribbling stream crawling from the subterranean lake, moving through tight cracks and crevasses, an impossible knotwork of openings that by chance and circumstance, had made a path through thousands of feet until it came to this spot. And there, at the very top of my tunnel, I could practically see the tiny little aperture the water had to push through to reach this final spot. I could almost see the way it bulged about the hole, the surface tension keeping it from just pouring out, making the droplet grow with the mass of water moving behind it until it finally reached that critical mass where the hydrogen bonds no longer held it to the rock around it, and it was set into freefall. Perfection. A clock whose fastest hand was timed down to the atom. It was the world's clock. It was the very heartbeat of the earth. And down, down, down the little droplet went, plummeting inevitably towards death. Drip.

I watched the water splash onto Astrid's dead face. The rivulets ran down her cheek like tears, and pooled upon her lips. Somehow, her face was the only part of her still intact. I wished it wasn't. I wished with all my heart that Julia had burned it into an unrecognizing crisp, but there it was. Perfect. Dead. Her steely blue eyes simply stared up at the hole she'd emerged from like some savior angel, the remnants of her hacked-off wings reflecting resplendently one last time so that she could deliver the fatal blow to Julia's back. It was the ultimate sacrilege for her to kill a god, and yet she'd done it without hesitation for me. Even after I'd tortured her, raped her, mutilated her, made her abandon all she held dear, she still dove through that hole right into the very pit of hell.

She must've known what awaited her down here. Nothing. Not death, just... nothing. There was no love down here for her to save, no hope for her to rekindle. Had she speared Julia through the heart and killed the god in an instant, Astrid would've found nothing in this hole but a sniveling little rat stuck in her self-made sewer. With her wings cut right off, the only way out was up, for I didn't have the strength in me to move an inch. She would've starved down here, and in the end, before the hunger finally took her, she would've hated me like I deserved.

"Why then, you fool?" I hissed at her, my tears splashing her face. She just stared blankly at the hole in the ceiling. It was like staring through the wrong end of a telescope, for the hole Julia had made through the rock was a perfect cylinder of molten shale. It would've been a fitting tomb for me, but I knew I would not die here. None of this was real, but this was not some fever-dream trip. The psychedelic fungi had taken me to a place more real than reality. Everything was so vivid. The stone on my feet was solid, the air on my face was cold, and the water that splashed me was wet. I peered into the darkness and searched for my demons, but their horrific grins didn't shine from the black. I was alone here. I was alone in a way I had never been before. For when I touched my hand to the rock, I felt nothing but its surface. I could not feel the great depths of crystalline stone, nor the billions of contours and edges, nor the multitude of layers all stacked so perfectly atop each other like a calendar for the eons. It was just rock to me.

I stood up, and realized in doing so, that I was strong again. I jumped just to make certain, and found that I was as spry as I'd ever been. I paced about the small cell I'd made beneath the earth, and contemplated the meaning of this vision. Inevitably, my attention was drawn to the burnt and mutilated husk of Astrid Skyborne. I tried to pretend she wasn't there.

I attempted to climb into Julia's hole, but the rock was smoother than an iron pipe, and I could not gain any purchase. I tried to find another stone to hack at the rock around me, but there was nothing small or loose this far beneath the earth. My cell was a perfect cave, and there wasn't so much as a jagged edge to use. I glanced down at the katana sticking out of Astrid's back, then back at the wall before me. I turned back to the katana, and sighed. The hardest material down here would be iron, and that blade was steel. I turned her over and closed my eyes, but it was too late; I'd seen it. Her entire back was burnt away, turned to crisped meat that hung from her spine and ribs. I wrapped my hand around the handle, and shuddered at how easily the blade came out of her. When I turned my face skyward, I opened my eyes, and plotted my course.

The Breytan blade was sharp, and it cut through the rock easily. I carved a foothold in only a matter of minutes, then I carved a second. I secured my feet in the holds, and elevated myself through Julia's hole. Once there, I carved two more footholds into the well she'd made, and carefully climbed into it. It was narrow enough that I could press my back against one side while I planted my feet on the other, and at first, I attempted to shimmy my way up the well, but I slid back down to the bottom, and had to stab the wall just to avoid falling into my cell. I secured my footing once more, and let out a sigh. I would have to cut my way up. I looked up at the pinhole of light so high above me, and recalled how terrible my flight from Julia had been. I'd burrowed deeper than I'd ever gone before just to escape her heat. Thousands and thousands of feet down.

"How many minutes have I been in my head?" I mused out loud, wondering if I spoke with my real mouth. I awaited Gloria's response from the waking world, but there was nothing. Contrary to her promise, I was truly alone here. I gripped the katana, gritted my teeth, and began to cut.

After thirty minutes, I had made it up about two-hundred feet. The pinhole of light at the top didn't look any smaller, but the darkness below certainly did. I was stuck somewhere between claustrophobia and acrophobia, which seemed like contradicting phobias except for this exact situation. Of course my mind would put me through something like this. I truly did hate myself.

After another thirty minutes, I was a sweaty mess. My legs were searing with the pain of pushing constantly against the wall, and my back was aching so much that it felt like my spine was being ground into dust. Sweat dripped from my face and pooled onto my belly, and I wiped it with my forearm, and recommenced cutting away at the rock. The moisture ran down my hands as I cut, and made my grip slippery. The blade caught on a jagged piece of stone and twisted out of my hand, and I had to lurch to the side in a gut-wrenching reaction. One of my feet lost its footing, my back slid down the tunnel, and I caught the blade. Only now, I was stuck. My body made a bridge between both sides of the well, but my neck secured one end while only my one foot secured the other. I tried to shimmy my torso up with my shoulders, but my shoulders had fallen beneath my point of contact. As my sword-hand swung below me, I felt a sickening wave crawl through me at the thought of all that space beneath me. One slip of my foot, one twist of my abdomen, one tiny loss of balance, and I would fold in half and tumble all the way down. Every part of me that wasn't touching the walls suddenly felt incredibly exposed, and that was every part of me save for my one foot, my neck, and the back of my head. My chin was forced into my chest, making me look at the precarious bridge of my body. My legs were so tired, my abdomen was screaming in pain, and my back was just hanging out over the void below me.

The sweat from my scalp began to creep down my neck, and slid between my point of contact with the wall. I lurched suddenly with the loss of friction, and dropped a sickening inch. My head was forced even more forward as the point of contact became the base of my skull, and my chin drove into my chest, making me look at my footing, which was now horrifically above me. Once again, with the utmost care, I reached across from me, and stabbed the point of the katana into the rock. I applied increasing force to the point, and cursed silently when it began to quiver and shake, threatening to slip suddenly against the curved walls. As I placed more and more force, by body began to slowly rise. My head slid upward, then my neck, then my upper back. Once I got my shoulders secured to the wall, I buckled my one locked-in leg, and pushed myself upright. The point of the blade skidded from its security point, and I pressed as hard as I could between my contact points. After the adrenaline had left my body, I pushed my other foot into the foothold, and let out a sigh. Only a few more thousand feet to go.

After three hours, I was about halfway. I'd cut multiple little outcroppings along the way where I could sit down and let everything rest. The only thing I couldn't put to rest was my vertigo, for the outcroppings were barely deep enough to perch my ass on, and since I couldn't cut a space out for my entire back to fit into, I was forced to look down at the pit beneath me. My hands were blistered and bloody, but I'd wrapped one of them in such a way that it was impossible to let go of the sword. When I was done resting, I stabbed into the rock, swung out, locked my feet into the footholds, and recommenced my climb.

After six hours, I was almost there. My shoulders and back were raw and bloody, my feet were sleuthed of their calluses, and my muscles were so stiff that they locked and cramped at a moment's notice. There were several times during my ascent when I'd broken down and cried, but the terror of falling and the horror of being stuck pervaded, and like a scared little rat, I climbed up through my hole. My blade was worn down near to the cross-guard, and sparked every time I drove it into the rock. I had to cut the spaces closest to me, then rotate around the wall and secure my feet where my arms had been.

It took another two hours just to make the same progress I'd done in twenty minutes when I started, but still, I persevered. A dangerous emotion was beginning to bubble within me: hope. I had watched the pinhole above me grow gradually larger as I made my way up. At first, it seemed an illusion, for the changes were so miniscule, but there was no doubt about it now. The hole was so big that I could see its lip, and above me glared the brilliant pale light of the sky. So close. So fucking close. I twisted my way up the hole like an auger, moving with such torpidity that it seemed I was walking in place at times. I didn't dare waste anymore of my blade on an outcropping to rest, and so I endured the terrible burn of lactic acid in my muscles as I moved ploddingly upward, inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard. The lip was so close now. It was like I could reach out and grasp it, but I dared not. Even as my toes came over the very edge of it, I dared not change my motion. I just kept cutting, stabbing twisting, moving with the same automatic motions that had gotten me this far until I could nearly see over the lip. I craned my neck to look, and my feet slipped.

I fell. My legs dropped beneath me, my stomach lurched, and I plummeted. I flailed out for purchase, and jammed both my hands into one of my footholds. There was a sickening crack, and I lurched forward. My body smacked into the wall, my face pounded into the rock, and my nose caved. Pain burst into my head, stars erupted behind my eyeballs, and the stench of iron suffused my sinuses. As the agony of my face radiated, I became dimly aware that both my wrists were broken. I swung from my ruined hands as if they were made of rope, and my wedged fingers and thumbs signaled their pain into my mind.

"Shit," I whispered to myself. Blood poured into my mouth, and I spit it out onto the wall before me. Shaking my head clear of the pain, I looked up, and saw the glaring white light of freedom just three feet above me. My hands were beyond useless, my sword was clanging against the walls a thousand feet below me, and I was trapped. Freeing myself meant falling, and staying meant... I didn't know what it meant. I had to constantly remind myself that this was all in my head, but nothing about what I was experiencing felt imaginary. I was beginning to wonder if everything I'd experienced in Gloria's cottage had been a lie, for this felt so much more visceral than that.

"Fuck it," I muttered, and planted my feet against the wall. I walked my way up until my wedged hands were in line with my extended arms, then I pushed with all my might. I shot backward, smacked into the wall, and bridged desperately. I barely caught myself before I plummeted headfirst into the abyss, and I let out a breath. I was staring straight up now. My useless hands dangled at my side, and my crushed nose poured blood down my cheeks, the pain causing my eyes to well in the glaring pale light. There was only one thing I could do. I raised my dangling hands from their limp wrists until they hung above me. I took a steeling breath as my legs began to fail me, and lurched.

For a moment, I was suspended in air. My body rotated in a tortuous front-flip, then righted itself. My hands came up and over me, and latched onto the lip of the hole. Before my body could fall beneath me, I used what little momentum I had left to swing back, secure my feet where my shoulders had been, and drive the crown of my head into the rock. It worked. A concussive bell rang in my head when I smashed my horns against the wall, but I did not lose consciousness. Now I was staring straight down, and the vertigo was nauseating. I closed my eyes, felt around the lip with my broken fingers, and began to step backward.

I dragged my head up the wall with each step, and had to secure my forearms to the lip and bring myself up lest I topple forward. Sweat poured down my brow and dripped with blood down the well, and the delayed pattering of its droplets informed me just how long it would take me to fall. That was the final thought that went through my head as I came over the top of the lid. My feet suddenly slipped backward, and I forced my ankles into rigidity to keep my legs from bending. I locked my knees, clenched my cramping abdomen, and straightened myself out over the hole. I rolled to the side, and let out a sob of pure ecstasy.

Every muscle, joint and tendon screamed in agony. My back was shredded, my hands and feet were worn to the fibers, my nose was crushed and my wrists were shattered, but I had never felt such pure relief in all my life. The cool air caressed my flesh, the light filtered behind my eyelids. I took in a sweet breath, and opened my eyes.

Above me, was a pinhole of light. Beside me, was the mutilated body of Astrid Skyborne. Drip, drip, drip, went the water, that interminable clock of geology. There was no hole beside me. My nose wasn't broken, my wrists were fine, my flesh was without wear.

"Of course," I whispered, feeling my heart sink low in my chest. "I haven't gone insane from the mushrooms. I haven't even gone back in time. I'm dead. I'm in hell."

"It was actually supposed to be heaven," a horribly familiar voice mused.

I slowly turned my head, and saw a shadow in the corner. Her profile was inky black, and so was her flesh. Her pits of eyes stared at me curiously, the white pupils alight.

"Of course you're here," I croaked.

She inclined her head. "Have we met before? Ah, no—you're mistaking me for my memory. I get that quite a lot."

"I know who you are!" I snarled, then took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. "This is a nightmare," I muttered. "I'm high as a fucking kite right now. I'm lying in Gloria's bed, probably pissing and shitting myself, but I'm OK." I opened my eyes, and stared my nightmare in the face. "You're not real."

Corruption rolled her eyes. "Relativism is such a farce. I found the remnants of that ridiculous ideology in one of Wisdom's felled trees. There may be infinite perspectives from which to view the world, but there is only one constant truth. Do you enjoy philosophy? I don't. It's just the prattle of a bunch of old men trying to reason-out why they never lost their virginity. Metaphysics, epistemology, axiology, and logic. Bleh!"

I blinked. How the hell had my preschool-level education concocted that idea?

Corruption fiddled with her fingernails, and smiled up at me. "As much as I loathe education, I can't help but absorb knowledge when I go on these excursions. I suppose it's my mother's academic rapaciousness that compels me to soak up as much of it as I do. What a clever creature she is." Corruption leaned in as though to whisper conspiratorially to me. "Though between me and you, let's just say she got all her smarts from her mother's side of her family. Not to say her father's stupid—far from it, but in the few seconds I spent in that tortured mind, I saw that all the critical thinking skills had been purposefully dulled in favor of 'faith,' which is just ridiculous. Ah, but to use an idiom of the theologists, I'm clearly preaching to the choir." She gestured broadly to my hovel. "You obviously have no faith in a higher a power, for my ghost never placed her book inside your center. Where is your center, by the way?"